The cellar grew colder as the hours slipped by, the distant howls of wind outside creeping through the cracks in the stone walls. Élodie had done what she could for Liam, cleaning his wounds as best she could with the limited supplies she had on hand. His fever still burned hot, his body twitching occasionally as though caught in some fevered dream. Every so often, his lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. It was as if the war itself had stolen his voice along with his strength.
Luc sat in the corner, his back pressed against the cool stone, his gaze never leaving the sleeping man. The silence between them had stretched long—too long. The tension was palpable, like the air before a storm, and Élodie could feel every flicker of unease in Luc's posture, his clenched fists, the tautness of his jaw.
"I don't trust him," Luc finally spoke, his voice low, thick with unspoken emotion. "I can't believe you would risk everything for someone we know nothing about."
Élodie glanced up, meeting his eyes. "He's a soldier, Luc. Just like you. He came here for a reason—he believes in the same fight we do."
Luc's eyes darkened, the flicker of a scornful smile curling at the edges of his lips. "And yet you barely know him, Élodie. You've barely spoken a word to him, and yet here we are—harboring an enemy agent in the heart of our Resistance. Can you even look me in the eye and tell me this was a good decision?"
Her breath caught in her throat at his words. The accusation stung. She had been trying to do what was right, and yet here was Luc, her childhood friend, her comrade, pulling away with each passing second. She couldn't help but feel the pang of betrayal, the bitter taste of reality pressing against her tongue.
"I'm not doing this for him," she whispered, her voice thick with conviction, though her heart betrayed her. "I'm doing this for us. For everything we've fought for. We've lost so much already. If we turn our backs on him now, on everything he represents, then what are we even fighting for?"
Luc's gaze softened slightly, though the hurt remained. "And what about us, Élodie? What about the sacrifices we've made—the people we've lost? You think this—this—won't cost us in the end?"
Before Élodie could respond, a low groan escaped Liam's lips, cutting through the tension in the room. They both turned, their focus immediately on him as his body shifted restlessly on the bench. His feverish eyes fluttered open, the confusion and pain reflected in his gaze as he blinked against the harsh light of the oil lamps.
"Where… am I?" Liam's voice was weak, rasping with the effort of speaking. He tried to lift his hand, but the movement only seemed to worsen the pain in his side.
Élodie quickly moved to his side, instinctively reaching for him. "You're safe for now. We're in Saint-Céleste. You're with us."
Liam's gaze flickered between her and Luc, trying to make sense of the situation. He seemed to struggle with forming words, his breathing labored. "The mission… the others…"
"The mission failed," Luc interrupted, his tone clipped. "The rest of your team? They didn't make it."
Liam winced at the words, his face paling. He closed his eyes briefly, the weight of loss pressing upon him. "God," he muttered, his voice breaking slightly. "We were so close…"
"Shh." Élodie placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch soft but firm. "It's over now. Rest. We'll figure out what to do next."
But Liam's eyes seemed to sharpen at that, a flicker of determination cutting through the haze of his fever. "You're not safe here. Neither of you. The Gestapo—they'll be looking for me. They'll come for you."
Élodie shook her head, her fingers tightening around his arm. "We're already taking the risk. You're not alone."
Liam's eyes met hers then, and for the briefest moment, something shifted between them. It was as if in that quiet exchange, they understood each other in a way words could never fully explain. The bonds of war, of shared suffering, had already tied them together in a silent pact of mutual understanding and, perhaps, something more.
But before she could think too much on it, Luc's voice broke through the stillness again, more insistent now, laced with impatience.
"We can't stay here forever, Élodie. The longer we keep him, the more danger we're in. We need to move, to keep our heads down. The Gestapo's presence is growing. They'll be here soon."
Élodie looked up at him, her expression hardening. "And where do we go, Luc? The rest of the Resistance cells are under constant surveillance. You know this."
Luc's eyes darkened. "We find another way. We have to."
There was no time for further discussion. Liam's condition was worsening, and as much as Élodie hated the urgency in Luc's tone, she knew he was right. They could not afford to stay in one place for too long. The Gestapo would find them, and when they did, there would be no mercy.
"I'll keep watch," Luc added, moving toward the entrance of the cellar. "Make sure he's stable. We don't have much time."
Élodie nodded, but the unease in her chest only grew. They were walking a fine line between survival and annihilation, and with each passing moment, the shadows seemed to grow darker around them.